September 10, 2023

Pentecost 15

Lectionary 23

Epiphany, Winnipeg

Psalm 149

Matthew 18:15-20

On Wednesday morning five of us went for a pleasant stroll through Kings Park to start the day and to kick off the Season of Creation. That was nice, but I haven’t heard anything about creation in these readings today. I’m guessing you didn’t either.

We’ll come back to creation in awhile, but for now let’s listen again to a piece of what we heard before, from Psalm 149. We started out with some nice prais-ey sorts of things about the goodness of God, and there were shouts of praise and “Let’s sing and dance and celebrate all of that!

Then __________ said, “Let the faithful rejoice in triumph; let them sing for joy on their beds.”

Then you and I said, “Let the praises of God be in their throat, and a two-edged sword in their hand.” (?)

And __________ said, “to wreak vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples,” (Umm…)

And we all said “to bind their kings in chains and their nobles with links of iron.” (Oh my….)

9And __________ said, “to inflict on them the judgement decreed; this is glory for all God’s faithful ones. Hallelujah!”

Now that’s weird. We were so happy, so joyous, so praiseful. Then it all just took a bleak turn and we joined our voices together in a call to arms and a rant about vengeance and punishment and prison chains and inflicting judgement on our enemies. Then we ended with a “Hallelujah” to try to bring the mood back and maybe even pretend we hadn’t said those other things.

So much joy. And then so much anger, such thirst for revenge.

As I sat with pen and paper and worked at plotting out this sermon my plan at this point was to go on for awhile about the ways that we can feel that kind of anger or wishing ill on someone else that we might feel. And I was going to try to come up with examples of a time when I felt like that, like I was so upset about what someone had done to me or to someone else that I sort of wished the same thing would happen to them. Or at least they’d lose their job. Or maybe just be shamed publicly. And I would be right after all.

But then your eyes would have glazed over and you might have thought, ‘Oh, he’s on about that again…”

Something else happens when we read and speak and hear what we read and spoke and heard today. Have you ever felt that kind of anger or desire for vengeance that we just read together? Well, someone else has too. Twenty-five hundred or more years ago. And they said it out loud, even to God. And their anger and frustration and hurt were not silenced. And we still hear that today.

The thing is, when the writer of this psalm calls for vengeance and slaying the enemy, that’s not God speaking and saying, “This is what I want you to do.” That’s not it at all. This is someone, a real person from a real community of people, who is somehow writing out of the anger or hurt or loss or trauma that they or their people have experienced. We might want to quiet that voice or those voices. We might want to pretend nobody feels that way. But there it is. And if you or I or anyone have felt the kind of hurt or loss or trauma that would make us feel that way…we know that someone else has. And it’s OK to say that. And it’s OK to express inexpressible feelings. Even in the Bible. Even at church. Even when we think maybe we shouldn’t. God can handle that. And someone out there, maybe you, maybe me, needs to hear that someone else has experienced this. And it matters. And it’s OK to say it.

We need to know that that’s OK. But the two-edged sword and the revenge? No, that’s not OK.

3 When Jesus talks to his followers – to us, to the church - he says, “You know, if someone else here sins against you, go and point it out to them. I know you’d like to get out that two-edged sword and go give ‘em what for, but just go talk to them. If they don’t listen to you, take one or two other people along next time, and point out what’s happened, and you’ll even have witnesses, and maybe then things will get patched up. And if they don’t listen, you still can’t get out that two-edged sword. Make it public - tell everyone here…maybe during announcements (No – not during announcements!) and if they still won’t listen, then treat them like Gentiles and tax collectors!” That’s it, the big final step – if they still won’t listen then treat them like Gentiles and tax collectors.

But remember that time just a few weeks ago when Jesus healed the daughter of the woman who kept on pestering him for help? She was a Gentile. And there was other time when a Roman soldier – yes, he was a Gentile, of course – came and asked Jesus to heal his much beloved servant, and Jesus said, “Sure; consider it done.” And then recall that one of the very first people Jesus called to be one of his followers was Matthew. And what was Matthew’s job? He was a tax collector.

“If they still don’t listen, treat them like Gentiles and tax collectors.” Jesus might as well have said, “If they still won’t listen, then help them out when they’re having some trouble. Invite them over for dinner, invite yourself to their place for dinner. Draw them into the circle. Go for a walk in the park with them, watch the Banjo Bowl together, have communion with them in the park on Tuesday evening, have a coffee with them after church. Love them when it seems like no one else will, listen to them when they’re not being heard, not even by you.” Treat them like Gentiles and tax collectors. And among all the people Jesus befriends and cares about and eats with…are Gentiles and tax collectors.

So where does that leave us? We’ve got this psalm that maybe reveals what we might not want revealed. And there’s Jesus, telling his followers, telling us, that even when someone won’t accept correction or take seriously enough the wrong that they’ve done we might just be best off to treat them well, welcome them, and make room here for them all. For us all.

It won’t solve an international crisis, and it doesn’t mean that those who have been wronged should just be quiet and play nice.

But it does mean that the peace of our community in a broken world is important enough for us to err – always and a lot – on the side of welcome and forgiveness and being at peace.

Because a world that cries out for punishment and vengeance doesn’t need a church filled with grudges and feuds. A world where the wealth of one needs the poverty of another doesn’t need a church that settles for some being welcome and some being left out. And really, when wind and floods are wreaking havoc and the world is on fire…or shaking to the foundations like in Morocco this week, nobody needs a church that’s lost in figuring out who wins in its own internal conflicts.

What we and the world need and get, instead, is this: a God who lets go of grudges and feuds, and turns away from vengeance and the sharp two-edged sword. This is a God who says through the prophet Jeremiah, “I will remember their sin no more,” and who looks at a rainbow and says, “I will never flood the world again. I will not be vengeful like that again.” This is a God who says, “I will remember those promises and come into the world in Jesus, and I will give my life rather than take theirs.” This is a God who says through the prophet Isaiah, “The trees will clap and the hills will sing when my healing and reconciliation are complete,” and who says through a political prisoner named John in the book of Revelation, “I am making everything new.”

What the world needs, and the church needs, is a God who is bent on finding the lost and freeing us all; who will not settle for some being welcome while others are left out, and who errs – with such welcome and such grace – always errs on the side of healing, and life, and love.

So what about Season of Creation?

Maybe it’s as simple as this: creation speaks to us with some of this same kind of word. That’s not new agey and flaky; it’s in the Psalms, and there’s a long tradition of serious Christian thinkers who say that God speaks not only through a book we call scripture, but also through the book of creation. Maybe creation does the same thing that that psalm says, and that that little talk of Jesus says. A summer storm gives voice, along with that psalm, to the anger or hurt we might feel sometimes. Or a peaceful afternoon speaks of the peace that God gives freely. A sunset can be beautiful and calming, or it might be something that expresses our deepest sadness sometimes, and even nature knows that sadness needs to be expressed. It’s OK. A rainfall can be too much sometimes, but sometimes it can revive our souls and tell us of a God who refreshes and feeds and makes things new.

There’s this good news that surrounds us, in here, from here, from one another, and out there. This news that God hears us, and our voices matter, and our hurts and sorrows and joys and pleasures matter. That God comes to us in Christ, for the good of all, for the good of all creation.

AMEN.